


A Mother's Love

by LadyLokiLover



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Farbauti's actual Parenting, Odin's A+ Parenting, ghosts/protective spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLokiLover/pseuds/LadyLokiLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mothers of Jotunheim, the departed Queens, watch over their frozen world once they have departed this life. Though they mostly dwell on Jotunheim, sometimes the youngest of their ranks Queen Farbauti will journey to Asgard to visit a certain special child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother's Love

Jotunheim is a world desolated by the pain and misery of war. It’s heart torn from it’s very breast-bone. It hangs, like a sizable piece of meat, for beasts to pick at as they wander across the Universe. The once proud people have forgotten the song of winter, which once sang merrily across their fields, now is but a hollow sound of nothing. 

But the World of the Jotun is never truly empty. As Laufey-King knows only too well. 

He sits upon a lonely ice throne. There is no wife to stand next to him and offer words of comfort. No laughter of his sons to fill his halls. For the War has left him not only widowed, but childless.

Three sons had he! Three! And oh how he shakes even now with rage at the thought. Two, large and full of bloodlust for battle, cut down personally by Odin Spear-Shaker. One last one, brought forth with the help of his mother’s dying breath, hidden desperately away in a temple where he would have grown to join the ranks of Jotun Sorcerers, killed also by Odin and thrown to wolves. 

He could still hear the babe’s mewling cries, so tiny, too tiny, held in the palm of his monstrous hand before the Priests of the Temple took him away and fled into the night. And he, foolish king, had returned to the battle, assured that his last son would live no matter what the outcome of the war. 

_He had Farbauti’s black locks. Such a rare genetic trait, found in oh so few Jotun males. He had waved tiny hands up at him, smiling as he wiggled on Farbauti’s still chest…_

A large hand curls around the stem of the ice goblet on the arm of his throne. It would do no good to mourn the life of a runt who had barely the chance to live. Twas better he was dead, that he would not have grown up in the frustrations a dead world, with a bitter father that had not a heart to love anything anymore. 

Laufey’s blood-red eyes stare out to the center of his hall. It is not as empty as eyes first deceived to be, and he bangs his fist upon the arm of his ice throne, letting out a bellowed command: 

“FARBAUTI! YOUR KING DEMANDS YOUR PRESENCE.” 

She comes, she always comes, the snow swirling up disturbed from it’s resting place upon the cold floor. It moves as one to the center, swirling a dance as ancient as time itself. Soon, one could see only blurrily that something was forming in it’s center. Then finally, when the snow resends back to where it should rightfully rests, does Laufey get a glance of what was in the middle.

The Aesir and other realms foolishly call them ‘Snow Dyrads’, as if it could truly be simple. A female spirit connected to nature? Obviously a Dyrad! Bah! Fools the lot of them! Laufey’s people knew better. They were not more than Jotunhiem’s old Queens, the Mothers of their Race, remaining tied to the snow and wind of their Homeworld. They whisper wisdom into the minds of their Mortal King, and offer comfort of a mother’s touch during times of despair to their people.

They overworked themselves in such times as these. 

Laufey gives his once-wife an appraising eye, for Farbauti has long since joined the ranks of the ghostly Mothers. She wears robes of white, which move like the snow itself, brushing past feet that are no longer there. Her blue skin, once a delightful teal shade, now an icy blue. Her eyes burn now a much brighter red, so they are pinpricks of the only true light from her. Her hair is the only thing that remains, true and utter black as the night sky. And even that, like the rest of her, is almost translucent as it waves in non-existent wind. 

“Ye called for me, Laufey-King?” Her voice is like the wind, and moves across the hall from where she stands at a whisper, though she is a far distance away, Laufey hears her clearly. 

The giant taps his fingers against the throne, “Come now, Ancient Mother, I would hear your wisdom for me yet.” The tone is drawled and tinged with sarcasm that would make anyone jump with bite. But Farbauti remains emotionless as her other ancient sisters. “Tell me secrets of the Aesir, whisper wisdom in mine ears.” He waves a hand in invitation, though he knows already what she shall say. It is what all the Ancient Mothers say when he calls for them: 

Farbauti’s burning red eyes slid closed, “…. Odin Twice-Blind has stolen something dear from you…” 

The goblet in Laufey’s hands flies through her corporeal form, and smashing into ice shards upon the wall behind her. Farbauti does not even flinch.

“DO YOU THINK I NOT KNOW THAT WOMAN!” Laufey’s rage-filled voice booms, and he stands, pacing in front of his once-wife. “Ye vile creatures will not let me forget, will you? Not let me forget how the Casket is in Aesir hands! That it no longer is here to protect our realm! Well… GO THEN! GO AND DO IT’S JOB INSTEAD OF SIMPERING AT ME! YOU VILE TEMPTRESS!”

Laufey turns and Farbauti is not gone, not yet. Though it was ordered, and he opens his mouth to wonder if her hearing has gone with her in death, when her next words stop his blood from running in icy viens: 

“In the Halls of the All-Father, a little child sleeps…” 

It is not so much the words, but the way Farbauti says them. Intones them with such ice and fury of nature. Then she begins to dissolve, voice mournfully echoing throughout the hall. “Oh my son, my darling baby boy, my fey-creature…” and then she is gone. 

Laufey then realizes that this is the anniversary of the day of their defeat in the war, and the date of his third son’s death and birth. He marks it in his mind as a day not to call the Ancient Mothers. For they seem to be emotional on this date… and they are never emotional.

* * *

It is upon the wind that Farbauti flies. One with the wind and the snow, and yet the people below wave up at her as she passes. They know that one of the Ancient Queens are within the strand of wind, and call out cheerful greetings as she passes. 

Even in such sound defeat they could hold such cheer. 

In the wind, others of her sisters join her. There is Miari, wife of Yimir, First Queen of Jotunhiem and she offers her sympathies to the still-mourning youngest. Here comes Loptra, her youngst son’s namesake and paternal grandmother, white hair snapping in the wind and cackling at her son’s foolishness. _”How now sister mine,”_ she croons, _”Can your husband and mine son be so bright yet dull?”_

Loptra has always liked her riddles. 

_”Watch thy tongue, Loptra!”_ Miari rebukes, red eyes blazing, _”Remember this day, remember what it is!”_

_”But what is there to mourn?”_ Loptra giggles and banks away from her sisters to fly towards the Craig’s that give way to the canyon. There she shall play her tricks upon unsuspecting travelers who come too close to the canyon’s edge. _”Our little fey-child yet lives!”_ She calls then is seen no more. 

Miari lets out a huff, placing at gentle hand upon Farbauti as they fly. _”Go and see him.”_ It is a command, _”It is your right, as his mother of blood.”_

“They have forgotten him Eldest Mother.” Farbauti lets her despair echo throughout the wind, “On this day, they forget him for their piglet! It ruts about and stuffs his face with food and affection of its hog-parents. While mine son, beautiful Ice-Hawk, sits starving for something that should disgust him so!” 

_”All the more reason to go to him!”_ Ancient Sister murmers, _”He cannot see you, but leave your gift, and whisper your affections, and he will know he is loved.”_

Miari pats her once, then banks off to follow Loptra, to make sure her sister does not get carried away with her pranks, _”We all love him.”_

Farbauti bites at her lip, then lets her spirit soar into the Universe. She rides star after star, using their energy to carry her to the highest realm.

* * *

Night has fallen upon Asgard. Still, there are echoes of a feast in the halls of Gladsheim. It’s golden towers alight as courtiers frolic and merry make in it’s grand great hall. 

The eldest son has bested his tutor in training today. And oh how proud his parents are. His cheeks are fat with meat and food, and he grins widely at his father’s praise, oblivious to the empty chair of the forgotten foster brother at his side.

Farbauti decides that she is right; the heir of Asgard does look like a piglet. 

A sudden blast of cold air bursts through the halls. Candles flicker and bend to it’s rage. The fire in the grand hearth does not stand a chance, shakes and blows away with fear. 

The cold wind blasts the heir of Asgard from his seat, causing Odin and Frigga to stand in shock as their son is blasted to his back, loosing some of his food in the process. 

The icy wind roars out of the halls. The fire flickers back to life, and the patrons scramble, blinking at each other. Frigga’s arms are wrapped around her son, who sits shivering in shock, brushing his hair from his face and shushing him. 

Odin Allfather narrows his eye around the hall. The presence was an Ancient Mother of Jotunheim to be sure. But that she should target his son… it was obviously a point to be proven…

“Frigga… Frigga, where is Loki?” He breathed, one eye landing on the empty chair of his youngest. 

Frigga’s eyes widen with fear, and Odin turns and races down the hall. His ravens, Huginn and Migun, caw and fly after him.

* * *

Her son is asleep. 

His tiny hands wrapped around a spell book that is twice his size. There are tear tracks that are drying upon his face, and Farbauti mourns that she cannot reach out with her phantom hands and wipe them away. Bring her little fey-child into her arms. 

She cannot do that, no. But she can wish her little Loptr a Happy Name-Day. 

She waves her blue hand, snow spirals together upon the young prince’s nightstand. They swirl together, and when they depart, they leave a scroll. Ancient, from the deep halls of the Vanir’s library’s. A map of the cosmos, detailed and colorful, with consolations and stars mapped and outlined. A white rose rests upon the top. 

Farbauti smiles, and leans down, pressing translucent lips against her baby’s cheek. 

“I love you, my darling Loptr.” 

She disappears as Odin opens the door to Loki’s rooms, causing the young boy to jump up, blinking sleepily at his father. 

The king runs to the boy, wrapping his arms around him, breathing a sigh of relief. His youngest and oldest are now safe from whatever ancient spirit had attacked their halls. He could sleep easy this night…

“Oh Papa!” Loki cries, wiggling out of his father’s grasp as he picks up the scroll with excitement in his green eyes, “You did remember!” 

Odin feels a sinking feeling in his chest as his youngest opens the scroll and praises how beautiful it is, and oh thank you father, for the wonderful birthday gift!

But Odin’s eye was warily locked upon the white rose that still rested on his son’s night table.

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting here, please be gentle! 
> 
> I might make this a multi-chapter, depends on the reactions. It can stand on its own two feet. 
> 
> Please leave a comment!


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